bound || hs

o n e

let your mind wonder

My parents are rich, very fucking rich.

I wouldn't even call them my parents. They are more of just the people who used to sign my report cards.

Fourteen years old.

That is the age I turned cold. I closed up, wouldn't let anyone in. Why the hell would I let them in? All they care about it money, cars, and sex.

My mother is thirty eight, father fifty two. I am nineteen. Yes my mother had me at seventeen. Fucking whore is what she is.

My father is a wealthy CEO millionare. Go to any God damn Five Star hotel or casino in London, Paris, New York, Hollywood, and L.A, it's most likely his.

Tremonte. {TREY - MON - TAE}. Written in large, demanding letters all over every fucking million dollar hotel.

My name is Adeline Renèe Tremonte and I am engaged to Ray Jacques Demorner Edgardo. Marrige is supposed to be the reunion of love, a man and a woman who could care about nothing else but eachother.

Ray Jacques Demorner Edgardo and I care absolutely nothing about eachother. In better terms know nothing about eachother. All I know is hes a son of my fathers friend, and is honestly very good looking. You may think, well at least he's hot. That's what I said, untill the night I first layed eyes on him.

My father, my father's "friend", and then Ray and I were seated at the
most extravagent resturant in Paris. At first Ray seemed okay, a little cocky and had the most overused smirk, but okay. That was untill my father told Ray and I to go take a walk so he and his buisness pal he calls a "friend" could talk.

May I tell you that I may as well be known as virgin mary, never been touched, and never have touched, until then.

Ray shoved me into a tiny garden exibo and fucked my mouth into it was dry. In other words, he forced me into giving him a blowjob. He told me that it was to show that he would be the one in control in the relationship and that I would have no say in it.

Romantic eh?

As everyone should know with my father being the CEO of one of the wealthies enterprises of the world, that I am indapendent. I do it on my own, and keep it that way. I always thought that I would grow up and leave this place, travel the world. That didn't work. Im everywere. I mean, Television, Magazines, News Papers, Twitter, search my name on google billions of articles gossip news and pictures will flood your screen.

Headlines all over reading: ADELINE RENÈE TREMONTE MARRYING RAY JACQUES DEMORNER EDGARDO?? or ADELINE RENÈE TREMONTE SHOWS UP AT FASHION SHOW WITH JACK LINGITION, IS SHE CHEATING ON HER NEW FIANĆE?!?! to even ADELINE RENÈE TREMONTE PREGNANT? I just want to leave, away from it all. To say, "au revoir" {goodbye} father fucking millionare, bastard of a fianće, and whore of a mother.

I remember when I had my first period and I though I was dying. I woke up with blood all over my imported silk sheets. My mothers first words as I went running to her yelling "MY PEE PEE IS BLEEDING" at the age of eleven were, " It's okay, when you loose you virginity it should bleed a little, but go do it again it will hurt less the next time." before walking away to go buy some new shoes or shit. Only that bitch would think their eleven year old daughter lost their virginity.

I have a brother. His name is William Davin Louvel Renardo Tremonte. But please, call him Will. Will was my best friend growing up, and the one who helped me buy tampons on that horrible day. He's 25 and honestly georgous. Any girl would fall for him. He went to collage for a football {soccer} scolarship in London. I havent seen much of him since. Only whenever we make time to fly out and see eachother which is only once every five months or so.

Currently I am attempting to curl my hair. I'm attending France's finest fashion show of the year tonight and dont want to mess it up. Paparazzi everywere, I will be attending with a man who I have yet to meet but my father says i would look "rather dashing" with. His name is Jaqurte blah balah a bunch of other names I havent given a shit to remember. He's 24 and aparently tall and dashing, which I learned from my five minuet Google search on my phone.

After finishing my makeup and hair, I slide on my designer Farret Mc Cardley heels and tight black Janiorque Madon dress onto my 5"11 figure, the heeks giving me atleast 6'1. Yes I'm tall. I have the long legs most women would die for. I just think of it as my hight gives me an advantage over others to be powerful.

After a two hour ride in an all black Range Rover that smelled of old cheep irish colone, and expensive cigars. I step out onto the red carpet of flashing lights and fame.

After thirty minuets of the newest high fashion of bone skinny, goastly model's. Sitting next to the sex god of fancy suits and degrading remarks of how the models don't have big anough breasts, I decided I needed to pee.

After ten minuets of walking around the enormous studio I find myself lost and in an alley of some sort. Cliche right? Were's the rapist or the kidnapper? Which always comes with the dashing muscular "goodguy" whom always saves the damsel in distress. Well no. All I can see is a dark alley and a dumpster consisting of some smelly dead thing.

After walking for five consistent minutes in high and unfortunatly uncomfortable heels my feet decide to fall over the curb and onto the dirty streets of France, in the process hitting my head on the nearest lampost. All I remember before blacking out was some man in overly tight skinny jeans looking down at me asking if I was okay. Aha theres that cliche moment.